


It Could Be Worse

by starsgoblue



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:02:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsgoblue/pseuds/starsgoblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another post-8x23 imagining.  Castiel feels like a failure, someone of import is irked, and I might get struck down for blasphemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Could Be Worse

When Castiel arrives at the bunker it is just before dawn, or so his newly weakened senses tell him. His brothers and sisters stopped falling a few hours ago, leaving the sky dark. It seems Metatron has done him one small service by transporting him scarcely three miles from friends. If he still has friends. For the first time that night he thinks of the demon trials; if he hadn’t gotten Dean to Sam in time, if Sam has succeeded in closing the gates of Hell, then he is dead. He may be dead anyway – he knows the effects of the trials are not something that can be gotten over in a night.  


These things make Castiel hesitate. He can do nothing to help Sam, especially now that he is powerless, and he doesn’t want to face Dean. Dean will know what has happened. He will know that Castiel has failed – that once again he’s missed the opportunity to fix the mess he has created – and this particular mess seems unfixable. And Castiel is selfish, he knows. He wants to keep memories of his friends that stand apart from the problems he’s just inflicted on them all.  


He wants to remember the Sam of a few hours ago, obviously weakened physically, but with new hope giving fresh color to his face. He wants to remember Dean…oh, he doesn’t know. All of their separations have been indefinite, and Dean once told him – from afar – that he sucks at goodbyes. He does not want to remember those times. Perhaps further back, then. Perhaps when Dean’s head broke soil as he dug himself out of his grave, a breath filling his lungs in a loud gasp. It had been a stunning physical proof of his salvation and perseverance. And he had never had to contemplate the apocalypse, Leviathans, purgatory…angels.  


Castiel turns away from the door. He can’t. He can still feel his angel blade in his sleeve, and he knows then what he can do instead. He walks back to the place where he fell, first following the road, and then venturing into the woods; he leans against a tree. For a moment he allows himself to look up to the empty heavens, but he resists the temptation to offer up a final prayer – his father is surely not listening now, if he ever was. He plunges the blade into his heart, thousands of years of training compensating for the new weakness of his muscles and a sudden tremor in his fingertips. After that he closes his eyes, and there are only seconds in which to wonder if he is going home.  


His eyes open as he experiences the impossible: Grace flows through him. His wounds are gone – there is no trace of blood on his clothing. But his clothing has changed: He is wearing a soft t-shirt and jeans and sneakers, as though he’d caught Jimmy Novak on a day off. It is no longer night, and the woods have vanished. All around is Paradise. There are no human words for Paradise, of course, but some that come close are light and pure and waves.  


This is Earth, not Heaven, and Castiel knows there is only one explanation to account for these new surroundings. The apocalypse has happened after all. Instinctively, he begins seeking out souls, friends, family. Dean is in heaven. Michael, Zachariah, and Raphael are in heaven, along with most of his other brothers. Balthazar and Gabriel are on Earth. And Sam and Lucifer are in Hell.  


“No,” he whispers, and shuts his eyes tight. When they open, his surroundings have not changed. Perhaps he is dead, and this is his eternal punishment – to live in a universe where he has accomplished nothing, saved nothing. But then, if he is dead, he supposes he has the leisure to go where he pleases. He goes to Dean’s heaven.  


Dean is in the Impala, driving down an endless stretch of road. A Led Zeppelin tape is playing – the very one Dean has made Castiel listen to about ten times on various missions. The song’s familiarity is comforting; the look of hatred Dean fixes him with when he materializes in the passenger seat is not.  


“Well hey there, Castiel,” Dean says, “What’s today’s story? Are you going to tell me about destiny some more, or are you just gonna have some fun with your drill? You know, last time I think I made it a whole human week without thinking about Sammy, so I’m thinking maybe it’s growing on me.”  


Dean’s coldness frightens Castiel; he cannot imagine that he and Dean would have parted friends had the apocalypse happened after all, but why is he talking of drills? Dean should be at peace here, his pain and anger tempered by the very nature of his surroundings. Instead, he is still broken. It makes Castiel wonder if they could be something worse than dead – if this universe could possibly be real. He must explain himself to Dean and see what he knows.  


“Dean, I am not who you think I am. This is not my world. You shouldn’t be here.”  


Dean stares.  


“Huh. Well, that’s a new one. Did your bosses slip you some of the good stuff or what?”  


I’m serious, Dean. In my world the apocalypse has been averted. Michael never had you as his vessel. You are alive, Sam is…I have hope that he is with you.  


“Think, Dean. Am I the Castiel that you know now? What reason would I have for lying to you?” Castiel is pleading now, and judging by Dean’s confused expression he is indeed acting very unlike the self that this Dean knows.  


“Okay,” Dean says, “Let’s just assume you are who you say you are. Why not? We have time. How the hell was the apocalypse ‘averted?’”  


“It was us. You and your brother, Bobby, and me.”  


“You? Why?” Dean is incredulous.  


“We have a history. You convinced me that humanity was worth saving, and so I helped you.”  


“So we’re friends in your world?”  


“Yes. Sometimes you say that we’re like family. Dean, may I ask you something?”  


“Sure, sure. Take a turn.”  


“What are you doing here? Did you die after Michael left you?”  


“Oh, no. Michael left me in pristine condition. His words. It’s just I had this little bit of unresolved guilt for killing my brother with my own hands and pitching him into Hell. So I got out one of my shotguns and blew half my head off; figured that would be the end of it. As you can see,” Dean says, gesturing at their surroundings, “I was wrong.”  


“If this is reality,” Castiel muses, “Then some event must have been altered in the past. I don’t understand – I thought that was impossible.”  


“Or somebody’s doing a little recreational brainwashing.”  


“We have Paradise now, Dean. Why would someone ‘brainwash’ me to think in a way that is contrary to Heaven’s plan?”  


Dean shrugs. “Touché. So, what’s your next move?”  


“Tell me about your life since I raised you from perdition.”  


“What?”  


“Tell me about—“  


“No, no, I heard you. It’s just, you weren’t the one who ‘raised me from perdition.’ That would be Zachariah. I only met you after I got up here a few years ago. You’re buddies with Naomi; you swoop in every now and then to get rid of all my ‘negative thoughts.’ Hell, we barely even have small talk before you start in on that destiny crap. And the drill, of course.”  


“Zachariah saved you?”  


“Well, let’s not give him that much credit. He kept me locked in his little room after Sammy killed Lilith. He gave me a few bouts of stomach cancer, then he started bringing me visitors. He killed Bobby, Jo and Ellen, Lisa and Ben.  


“They all knew what it meant, you know, and they begged me to keep saying no. Like that would make it any easier. And then he gave me a bird’s eye view when Sam said yes to Lucifer. That’s what did it. I said yes. I screamed it at the top of my lungs. Michael pounced, started prepping for a battle he knew he’d win. I guess you know the rest – it’s written in your Sunday school lessons, right?” Dean glances over at Castiel, and for a moment his eyes have nothing behind them; they have the glassy sheen of a dead man.  


Castiel’s eyes close. He takes a breath.  


“I’m so sorry, Dean,” he says, and it is so inadequate, so meaningless in this moment that he wishes he’d kept silent. For his part, Dean does not acknowledge that he has said anything; he focuses his gaze on the road before them.  


And so Castiel tells Dean his story – their story. He tells him how it felt to fight his way through Hell, and then to heft his soul in one hand while he stitched together Dean’s body. He tells them about their first meeting, Dean’s doubts, and then, later, his own. He recounts the moment he decided to help Dean leave Zachariah’s room, a fruitless search for God and a more successful one for horseman’s rings.  


He recalls the times he doubted Dean, and times he felt he’d had to give up too much. He describes the day Sam said yes to Lucifer and condemned himself to the Cage. And then he has to remember more shameful things: his association with Crowley and his lies to his friends, the crumbling of Sam’s wall, his utter failure in trying to fill his father’s shoes. He talks of his brief life as Emmanuel, of the visions he’d had when he was crazy. There is Purgatory and Naomi, tablets, more betrayals, and finally Metatron.  


When he finishes the sun has gone down over Dean’s heaven, and they are driving through darkness. Dean has not spoken, and his expression is unreadable. They approach an exit that promises a motel and several fast food restaurants, and Dean turns off. He orders two bacon cheeseburgers at a drive-through and books a two singles room at the motel.  


You know,” Dean says as he walks into the room carrying the food and a six pack, “It used to be Sam here with me. I guess you guys figured I’d forget about him faster if you purged him from my memories up here.” He passes Castiel a cheeseburger and a beer.  


“I don’t know what they’re so worried about. I’ve driven down this road so many times. It’s the only physical memory you left me with the first time you did your drill trick. Sometimes I stop, sometimes I don’t. If I don’t, I always end up back at the same mile marker in the middle of Kansas. If I do, I go there as soon as I drive out of this town. I can’t find anyone I know. You’re actually the only one who visits. Sad, huh?”  


“Your heaven has been altered?” Castiel is alarmed; he’s never heard of such a thing.  


“Yeah. I used to have all these memories of my childhood I could go to. I even visited my parents once. I couldn’t even look at them. They didn’t know what I did. My Dad, he – he asked me where Sammy was, whether he was still alive. I couldn’t tell him, so I left.  


“I had this whole revenge scheme plotted out. I made a scene, started ripping apart bits of my heaven. I figured at least one of you guys would show up and put a stop to it. That guy was you, by the way. I told you my whole sob story to distract you, then I went for your angel blade. I didn’t figure it would kill Michael, but I knew Zachariah was good for it. Long story short, I wasn’t fast enough. And then you told me what your job was. We’ve been having our little talks ever since.”  


Silence settles over the room then, and they eat their meal. Dean undresses for bed. In heaven no one sleeps, of course, but Castiel has seen plenty of souls who go through the rituals anyway.  


"Castiel?” Dean speaks through the darkness, having turned off his bedside lamp.  


“Yes?”  


“Things are pretty bad where you come from, right? What with the Gates of Hell most likely still in operation and a bunch of dick angels landing on Earth? Hell, you don’t even have your wings anymore. We don’t know if Sammy made it. Do you think you made the right call? Helping me, I mean.”  


“Yes,” Castiel says it immediately, unreservedly, almost before Dean has finished speaking. Dean sits up in bed and clicks the light back on. He is studying Castiel’s face.  


“I have spent nearly my entire existence following orders simply because I believed they came from my father. When I did not obey, I was ‘brainwashed.’ To have free will, to have a soul…these are things angels aren’t meant to possess. But you do. You told me that you didn’t want to be a ‘bitch in Paradise.’ I admired you. I took your philosophy as my own. The mistakes I’ve made since are my own; they have nothing to do with you.”  


“Why’d you keep leaving us, then?” Dean asks, his eyes challenging.  


“What do you mean?”  


“I mean it doesn’t seem like you have much faith in us. The whole Purgatory scheme, and then the tablet? Man, I am here because I didn’t have faith in Sammy, okay? And then surprise, surprise, he decided not to trust me, either. I couldn’t stop him, once he got started. So don’t tell me I’m not a part of this. Because in any world, if we’re family and you can’t trust me, that is my problem.”  


“So then what do we do?”  


“Maybe figure out why you’re here? And keep Naomi and her crew at bay while you’re at it – we don’t need to get lobotomized now. Do you think you can get me out of here?”  


“Yes. But someone may notice that your heaven is vacant. They tend to change when they have no occupants, and of course you are a vessel. Your soul is still quite important; someone must be watching over it.”  


“Yeah, well, I thought that was you.”  


“And I must have superiors. Perhaps it would be better if we parted ways for now. I will go to Naomi and make a report, and then—“  


“And then you will fly your ass back here and take me wherever it is you plan to go next. I mean it, Castiel. I’m in. Whatever world you’ve got, screwed up as it sounds, it has to be better than this one. You need to get back to it. We need you.”  


“Fine,” Castiel says quietly. He tells himself that he is not relieved by Dean's response.  


“You trust me, right?” Dean stares over at Castiel until their eyes meet.  


“Yes,” he replies. And he does, implicitly.  


“Good,” Dean says. Only he isn’t Dean anymore. He is growing, changing into something that Castiel cannot describe in any of the languages he knows. But this being does have a name. He has many names, but the simplest of these is—  


“God,” he whispers.  


“Yeah,” says God, becoming Dean again, “I figured this form would be the easiest way to get my point across.”  


“What point?” Castiel asks meekly. Vaguely he wonders if he should be kneeling, but God is correct – his form is a bit too familiar.  


“No need for that; if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s groveling. I mean, everyone seems to think that because I created everything, I deserve worship. Did it ever occur to you that maybe the reason why everything’s flawed is because the creator’s flawed, too?”  


Castiel begins to speak.  


“Of course not!” God says.  


“Anyway, you wanted to know what my point was. I try not to intervene much; in fact, technically I’m not supposed to intervene at all, because of the whole free will thing, but sometimes you guys go way off the grid and I have to set you back on it before you destroy everything. Like your case.  


“I mean, come on, man. I brought you back to life twice. Doesn’t that tell you anything? I wasn’t gonna try for round three without making sure you understood the significance of that.”  


“I am dead, then.”  


“Of course you’re dead. You should’ve realized that the second you started thinking about changing the past. No one can do that; not even me. But I do know all the outcomes. I can show you what would have happened if you hadn’t saved Dean Winchester from Hell. It’s not very pretty, is it?” And Castiel averts his eyes.  


“In fact, I would go so far as to say it’s a worse situation than you have now. Everybody here is somebody’s bitch. Excepting Dean, of course, who’s damaged beyond all repair. And then there’s Sammy. He’s a demon now. The process happens a lot quicker when you’ve let the Devil in.  


“You think you’re useless because you don’t have your grace anymore. You obviously haven’t learned anything from hanging around those boys. They’re not useless. They can’t afford to be. One of them pointed you toward your destiny. Of course, destiny isn’t set in stone, like most people think. You can change your path, if you want. It’s to your detriment, but it isn’t forbidden.  


“Dean was right. The ‘grand story’ is a lie. It’s the ultimate test, both for the angels and for humans. You passed, which was the first step. What you’ve been through since has been leading up to the final step. Remember when Naomi referred to you as a ‘spanner in the works?’ I never made you to be obedient. I gave you the capacity to feel, even as an angel. I molded a soul for you that’s been in Heaven almost since the beginning of time, waiting for you to take possession of it. Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Your destiny, that which will fulfill you and use you to greatest capacity, is to live and die as a human.”  


Castiel cannot speak at all, now. There is a lump in his throat that makes it almost painful even to breathe.  


“I know, I know. You’re thinking, ‘why me?’ right? First of all, this isn’t a punishment, it’s an honor. A human soul might feel weaker than grace, but I can tell you it’s worth a lot more. And you have a family on Earth. You’ll never be alone, like you are here. The Winchesters will teach you how to hunt, and you’ll become pretty good at it. You’ll have high cholesterol from all the cheap food you eat, and Sam will get on your case about it. Dean will make you watch movies and television until you understand all his references.  


“You’ll get the angels under control, and the demons, too. It will take a while, but Sam will find his apple pie life. Dean will understand, but I suppose you know he’s never wanted quite the same life Sam does. The two of you will continue on. One day you’ll realize – and no spoilers about where along the line this falls – that you’ve done penance long enough, and that your mistakes, no matter how big, are in the past. You’ll start to feel comfortable in your own skin. You’ll fall in love as only a human can; I don’t need to tell you with whom. You will live and die and come here again, together with your soulmate. At some point, you’ll kick Metatron’s ass.  


“This is your destiny, Castiel. You won’t have an easy life, but you will know happiness. And you should know this is the last time I’m going to bring you back to life, so make it count. Now, are you ready?”  


No, Castiel thinks.  


“They never are. But it’s time to go, anyway.” He touches Castiel’s forehead, and for the second time in this very long night, Castiel is falling.  


He’s back on the bunker’s doorstep and his clothes are covered with drying blood. But his body bears no scars, and his mind is clear and rested. The sun has risen. Castiel hesitates but a moment: This is the time it takes to stand and ensure that he is steady on his feet. Then he knocks, and the door is opened to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel kind of bad because I didn't include Chuck in this, but the more I puzzled over what might have happened to him the more I confused myself. I also hope God's hybrid Dean/otherworldly being dialect was not offensive.


End file.
